


when we see each other again

by pyrophane



Category: NINE PERCENT (Band), 乐华七子NEXT | NEX7, 偶像练习生 | Idol Producer (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Canon Compliant, Future Fic, Gen, M/M, Post-Nine Percent Disbandment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-21 07:33:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14280087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrophane/pseuds/pyrophane
Summary: Closeness involves more than an absence of distance.(Or: five times Zhu Zhengting runs into familiar faces in the first year of his second debut.)





	when we see each other again

**Author's Note:**

> is it gen is it shippy who knows!!! this is not an infidelity fic though, just a lot of complicated relationships tangled around zzt. background pairings include cxk/wzy, lyj/yzj, and fcc/hmh. if you're not familiar with jun or seventeen, check the end notes for an explanation of the first section ♡

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One week out from Zhengting’s second debut he wasn’t even in the country. There’d been a few contractual things hanging over from Produce 101, so he and Minghao had flown over to Korea without the others to tie everything up last-minute. And it had been good to see Hyeongseop and Euiwoong again, though their paths had diverged now; at one point Zhengting’s dreams had been bound up with theirs. He hadn’t forgotten.

Presently he was lying flat on his back on the hotel bed, staring at the ceiling in the hopes that the next time he glanced at his suitcase it would have packed itself. Minghao had already caught a flight back to China last night, accompanied by their manager to give him a fighting chance of touching down with his life and limbs all still intact. This left Zhengting in Korea by himself, but that was a small price to pay for the sake of the continued survival of YHNEXT’s beloved youngest and star problem child, without whom the group was unlikely to get far, even if it would have made Zhengting several times less likely to die of a stress-induced coronary before the tender age of thirty. Besides, any longer and Minghao would have started plaintively calling for Chengcheng or Zeren or Wenjun out of the door, as if this would somehow summon them across the Yellow Sea and not just result in the hotel slapping a couple extra hundred thousand won on their bill for disturbing the neighbouring guests.

With YHNEXT’s debut so close it was all Zhengting could think about. Whether it’d been too long since Idol Producer to maintain the public’s interest. How much of Nine Percent’s fanbase would follow them over. If his members would still be alive by the time Zhengting got back to China—indeed, if there would be a band to debut at all.

There was a knock on the door. It wasn’t until Zhengting was twisting the handle that he remembered Minghao was no longer in the country and thus he had no idea who could be on the other side, housekeeping or axe murderer or overinvested fan or whoever else.

“ _Junhui_?”

That was about as much as he had time to get out before Junhui was wrapping his arms around Zhengting’s waist and physically lifting him off the ground to spin them both around. The breath vacated Zhengting’s lungs in a startled noise, halfway to a laugh. When Junhui set him down he staggered forward a little, tipped into Junhui’s hold, pressed the uncontainable smile into Junhui’s shoulder.

“Hi!” Junhui said, somewhere in the vicinity of Zhengting’s hair.

Zhengting drew back. “How are you here right now? Aren’t you promoting?”

“My schedule’s free for the evening,” Junhui said. “Sheng—our leader convinced the manager to let me visit. I wanted to come see you! Even if it’s just to send you off… When’s your flight?”

“Nine,” Zhengting said. “I was just about to leave—”

“I’ll drive you!” Junhui said.

“You can _drive_?”

Junhui beamed, framing his chin between index finger and thumb. “I’m out there! Tearing up the streets of Seoul…”

“Should I be worried?” Zhengting teased.

“I’m actually a _very_ safe driver, I’ll have you know,” Junhui said. “If it was any of my other members driving, though…”

Zhengting wilfully suppressed the hypothetical scenario of any of YHNEXT other than maybe Wenjun ever getting behind a steering wheel. “But how’d you even know I was staying here?”

“Minghao—my Minghao, I mean—got it out of your Minghao,” Junhui said. “I don’t know either, I try not to think too much about it. Anyway, I heard you’re debuting again soon! How are you feeling?”

“Stressed,” Zhengting said honestly. “I mean, I’ve got experience with this kind of thing, right? But I’m still—stressed.”

“You’ll do well,” Junhui said. “You always do well! I watched all of your shows.”

“Oh,” Zhengting said, flustered. “But you—weren’t you even busier than me? You didn’t have to…”

“I wanted to,” Junhui said.

It was a forty-minute drive from the hotel to Incheon Airport. In the passenger seat, Zhengting stretched his legs out as far as he could. Junhui took the turn onto the expressway. “Hey, you should tell me about your members,” Junhui said. “I watched your shows, but I wanna hear it from you.”

“Which set, though?”

Junhui hummed. “Either,” he said. “Or both! I don’t mind.”

So Zhengting started with Yuehua ( _they sound like a lot,_ Junhui said, to which Zhengting replied, _you have no idea_ ), and moved through to Nine Percent. Junhui laughed when Zhengting got up to Yanjun.

“I have a friend like that too,” Junhui said. “Cold jokes…”

“One of your members?” Zhengting asked, and Junhui nodded.

“He has a warm heart, though,” Junhui said. The affection bleeding through even in the third person. “Yes… that kind of person, you know.”

“What kind?”

“The kind that makes staying worth it,” Junhui said.

Zhengting hid his smile in the palm of his hand. “That kind, huh,” he said.

It’d started drizzling, a light mist falling over the windshield. Junhui flicked the wipers on. For a while there was only the rhythmic sound of the wipers moving against the window, expanding into the shell of the car. Then Junhui spoke again. “Are you back to work straight away?”

“Actually, I don’t have schedules until the end of the week,” Zhengting said. “I was thinking, maybe I should go see my family? But what kind of leader doesn’t try to get back to their group as quickly as possible. And with the debut so soon. Isn’t it—selfish of me, I guess.”

“That’s not selfish,” Junhui said. “And I think that you should let yourself be selfish sometimes, anyway. It’s okay!”

Zhengting leaned his head against the window. Outside the streetlights flashed intermittently as they passed by, like some code Zhengting couldn’t decipher. His breath condensed on the glass, and he swiped at the clouds with his sleeve. “Do you think so,” he said.

“I know what kind of person you are, Zhengting.” When Zhengting tilted his head to look at him Junhui’s gaze was fixed on the road, but he was smiling. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“I could say the same for you,” Zhengting said. “Our Wen Junhui. World’s most handsome! World’s kindest.”

“ _Zhengting_ ,” Junhui said. He ducked his head a little, like he wanted to hide his face.

Junhui insisted on parking despite the presumably astronomical fares and staying with Zhengting as he checked in, and even though Zhengting tried to convince him to do something more productive with his night off he was still grateful for it, the feeling welling up in his throat. They stood in front of the terminal. Around them passengers kept flooding in, a temporary convergence of paths before spilling apart to their disparate destinations. Junhui put his hands on Zhengting’s shoulders.

“Next time stay longer,” Junhui said. “It’d be nice if you could meet everyone else, I think. I want you to meet them.”

“You should come back to China sometime, too,” Zhengting said. “Make your company let you promote back home.”

“Maybe we’ll be able to stand on the same stage!” Junhui said.

The lights were too bright. Zhengting blinked rapidly. “I’d like that,” he said. His voice sounded strange to his own ears.

Junhui slid his arms around Zhengting’s back. Then he pulled away. “Give me your hand,” he said.

Bemused, Zhengting unfurled a fist, and Junhui produced a packet of gummies out of the depths of his coat, depositing it in Zhengting’s palm and curling Zhengting’s fingers around it.

“For the trip home,” Junhui said. He flashed Zhengting a blocky smile, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Cupped Zhengting’s face in his hands and pressed his mouth to Zhengting’s cheek, and then he was gone.  

The candy had melted slightly in the heat trapped by Junhui’s coat, soft and sticky in Zhengting’s mouth. He didn’t remember when he’d decided to start eating, but by the time the plane landed he’d finished the bag.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Zhengting saw Ziyi first, coming up the escalator into Xiamen Station’s main waiting hall with his luggage. He wasn’t even wearing a facemask. In one hand he held the glass flask he’d had since the show or one identical to it, two-thirds full of orange juice. Some things hadn’t changed, after all. Zhengting smiled and pulled his own facemask down.

When Ziyi caught his gaze surprise flitted across his face. He started towards the seats where Zhengting had set up camp. “Hey bro,” Ziyi said, offering a hand that Zhengting clasped. “This is really a coincidence… Didn’t think I’d run into you here, of all the places.”

“Must be fate!” Zhengting said. “It’s two-ninths of a reunion. Idol Producer, graduating class of 2018. Where are you heading?”

“Hangzhou,” Ziyi said.

“Wouldn’t it be quicker to fly there?”

Ziyi shrugged. “I wanted to catch the train,” he said. “It feels more—romantic?” He laughed, absently touched the back of his neck. Personally Zhengting thought there was very little that was romantic about being crammed into a glorified tin box on wheels for hours on end, but Ziyi always seemed to see the world a little more gently than everyone else. “You know. What brought you to Xiamen?”

“Just a stopover,” Zhengting said. “I have family in Putian—I was in Korea recently, and I don’t have to get back to Beijing until the end of the week, so I thought I’d pay them a visit… What about you?”

“I’m on a break too,” Ziyi said. “Have you been here before?”

“Only when Linkai brought us for the hometown visit filming…” Zhengting said.

“I hadn’t either, until now,” Ziyi said. “But I’ve been to Gulangyu Island—”

“Ahhh, right, the time you and Xukun—”

Ziyi grinned. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s a really nice place. If you have time you should come back. I’m no local, but I could probably show you around.”

It was an easy offer to make and accept, because neither of them would have time once they debuted again, now that _debut_ wasn’t some nebulous unreachable concept. But that was a little uncharitable on Zhengting’s part. Ziyi was the dependable type. His actions mirrored his thoughts. How he still managed to be the consummate idol despite this was beyond Zhengting. Kindness was exhausting enough, let alone the iron grip Ziyi kept on his image, but maybe for Ziyi the difference was negligible.

“Sounds good,” Zhengting said. “When we’re both free, let’s come back here together. It’s a date!” He aligned his thumbs and forefingers at right angles, framed Ziyi’s face through the rectangle. “Oh, but won’t your ISEEs be jealous—”

Ziyi pushed at his shoulder good-naturedly. “So when’s the debut?”

“Next week,” Zhengting said, dropping his hands. “Wang Ziyi, I’m counting on your support…”

“I’ll buy all your CDs,” Ziyi promised. “I’ll stream your songs every day.”

“Hurry up and debut again too,” Zhengting said, “and we can collaborate, it’ll be just like how things were before—”

He stopped himself. Dangerous, wanting things to stay how they’d always been, when all of them were moving forward and further apart. But the history was there, inescapable. And Ziyi was one of the surest anchor points of it.

Ziyi seemed to pick up something of what Zhengting was at a loss to say, and tilted his head. “Do you still talk to the others?” he asked.

“I try to,” Zhengting said. “I’ve been too busy lately, with the—debut stuff, though…” There was no reason for him to justify himself, but something about Ziyi inspired it. He just radiated genuineness. It was impossible not to at least try to match. “Do you? I mean—Xukun, obviously—” Ziyi dipped his head, “—but everyone else?”

“I try to,” Ziyi said, smiling. Zhengting had the feeling Ziyi’s definition of _try_ involved a lot more effort than his own. He resolved to do better.

“I miss you guys,” Zhengting said, and he was surprised by how much he meant it. “Well, the six of you I’m not stuck seeing every day of my life. We should have a real reunion soon—someone get iQiyi on the phone so they can bankroll this—”

“Sure,” Ziyi said. “Let’s go for Haidilao. After everyone’s debuted again, as a celebration.”

“ _Genius_ ,” Zhengting said, in English. “Hey, did you—”

 _Passengers taking train number D6204, please proceed to gate five, the train is now ready for boarding,_ droned a voice over the speakers. _Passengers taking train number D6204, please proceed to gate five, the train is now ready for boarding..._

“That’s me,” Zhengting said. He stood up, and Ziyi did too.

Ziyi took his hands and squeezed them. “Take care of yourself,” he said.

“You too.” Zhengting fit his fingers between Ziyi’s to grasp them more firmly. Held the contact a little longer than he needed to, but Ziyi didn’t pull away, either. “Let’s keep in touch.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Hello!” Zhangjing called, waving his arms. “Sorry we’re late, this guy spent two hours in the shower re-tiling it or something, I don’t even want to know—”

“Friends, comrades, countrymen,” Yanjun droned.

“Well!” Zhengting said, letting Zhangjing pull him in for a hug. “This is unexpected.”

“Chaoze couldn’t make it, so you get the better-looking Lin instead.” Yanjun spread his arms, grandiose, like he was greeting some imaginary adoring audience. “You’re welcome.”

Zhengting laughed. “I think I’d like a refund, thank you.”

Yanjun mimed yanking an arrow out of his chest. “You break my heart, Zhu Zhengting. And here I thought you’d be happy to see me. I see now that I was a fool—”

“You’re so dramatic,” Zhangjing said, sighing. “Just hug him already and we can go get a table out of the cold.”

Zhengting opened his arms and Yanjun obliged, squeezing him around the waist. The place they’d decided to come to was a Western-style cafe Chaoze had introduced to them last time, even though none of them were actually in the habit of drinking coffee. It was mostly just a social cachet thing. What could Zhengting say? They were all vain people.

They placed their orders. Zhangjing slid into a booth, pointedly situating himself in the middle of the seat so that Yanjun had to stab an elbow into his side several times before he relented and gave him space to sit down. Zhengting sat down in the booth opposite them.

“Ah, this place is so high-class,” Zhangjing said, picking up an individually wrapped sugar cube from the bowl between forefinger and thumb. “Look at these…”

Yanjun plucked it out of Zhangjing’s hands, tore the plastic, and popped the cube into his mouth. “Don’t be too impressed, it’s literally the same sugar as everywhere else, just in wrappers,” he said.

“The point is that it’s shaped in _cubes_ ,” Zhangjing said. “Be less jaded. Open your eyes to the wonders of this world.”

The Banana Culture trainees—did they still count as trainees when two of them were already post-disbandment?—were easy to be around, which was why Zhengting liked to meet up whenever their schedules aligned. It was company without expectation. Through the course of Nine Percent’s promotions centre, of course, had not been up for negotiation, but leader had been, and at the end of the first meeting Yanjun had walked out with the title squaring his shoulders. It suited him well. He knew what to say, and when. And hadn’t it been comforting to be absolved of responsibility for that brief year, to be the reassured rather than the reassurer? The instinct to worry died hard, but it proved even harder to resurrect.

Yanjun stretched, looping an arm around Zhangjing. “Isn’t it a little cold in here?”

Zhangjing shrugged him off. “The only thing cold in here is your humour,” he said.

“Thank you, I do try,” Yanjun said. “I like to think I’m unsurpassed in subzero-temperature comedy.”

“Ignore him,” Zhangjing said, like Zhengting hadn’t also suffered for more than a year under the brunt of Yanjun’s bad jokes. “He thinks he’s so funny.”

“Wow,” Yanjun said flatly. He turned to Zhengting. “Wow. Does your best friend treat you like this? Who needs netizens when I have You Zhangjing with me.”

Zhangjing nestled back into Yanjun’s side in apology, and Yanjun’s arm came around his shoulders again, without hesitation. Zhengting thought about the Yuehua practice rooms lit up late at night, then a handful of jelly candy, then nothing at all.

“We watched your debut music video the other day,” Zhangjing said. “Justin was very cute!”

“He’ll cry if he hears you saying that,” Zhengting said. “He got his hair cut short and everything so he could look more mature.”

“Aww, but he _is_ cute,” Yanjun said. “A sweet, fresh, toothsome boy—”

“Did you want to maybe say that in a way that sounds less like you want to eat him,” Zhangjing said.

“It’s because I love him,” Yanjun said.

“Sometimes I wonder if you hear the things that come out of your mouth,” Zhangjing said.

“Never,” Yanjun said.

“It’s his charm point,” Zhengting offered, and Yanjun grinned, lopsided.

Their order number was called. Zhengting stood up, but Zhangjing waved him off. “I’m not _that_ old,” Zhangjing said, climbing over Yanjun to get out of the seat and head towards the counter.

As soon as he was gone Yanjun commenced sprawling across the entire booth. When Zhangjing came back with their drinks he clicked his tongue. “I’m bringing you sustenance and this is the welcome I get?” he said.

“Oh, alright then,” Yanjun said, moving over.

“It’s good to know you love me as a person and not just as a delivery service,” Zhangjing said. He passed Zhengting his tea, and Yanjun some horrific crimson concoction.

“So how are you holding up, then?” Yanjun said, stirring his distressingly red mystery drink. “With the debut?”

“Okay,” Zhengting said. “Our QQ streaming sales are pretty good—I mean, we’re a rookie group, I guess I just… expected more? Because of—you know.”

“Well, we can’t all be Cai Xukun,” Yanjun said briskly. “You’re doing well for rookies, aren’t you?”

“When are _you_ going to debut,” Zhengting said.

“Couple of months, probably,” Yanjun said. “Didn’t want to clash with yours. See, your old leader is still looking out for you.”

Zhengting dropped his gaze to his drink. It wasn’t funny, because all of them knew exactly what the difference was between the combined popularity of the Banana Culture and the Yuehua members of Nine Percent. Zhangjing cleared his throat.

“Sorry, that was too much, wasn’t it,” Yanjun said. “I shouldn’t have said it. You know we’re cheering for you, Zhengting. It’s not a zero-sum game.”

When Zhengting looked up at him again his expression was solemn, earnest. Zhengting exhaled, shaky. “It’s hard,” he said. Once he’d started, the words wouldn’t stop coming. “I keep thinking—is this enough? Are we going to make it? I know I shouldn’t—I know things are different now, but I can’t help comparing it to how things used to be. With Nine Percent.”

“Don’t feel bad about having expectations,” Zhangjing said kindly. “You’re not going to figure out how to manage them overnight. It takes time.”

“But I should already know how,” Zhengting said. He laced his fingers around his cup, for the sake of giving his hands something to do. How easy it was to forget what it felt like to start from nothing. _What do I do if I’m not where I need to be,_ he thought, but what right did he have to ask it of Zhangjing and Yanjun?

He wanted the old comfort. Something to steady him. Zhangjing with his hands folded in front of him on the table, Yanjun draped over Zhangjing like a breathing, dimpled, preposterously high-maintenance jacket, waiting for him to finish. Zhengting probably would have trusted them with his life.

“Is it really okay for me to want things to be easier than this,” Zhengting said. “I don’t regret—this is what I _want,_ I just wish…”

“You’re allowed to be selfish sometimes,” Yanjun said.

“You know,” Zhengting said, sitting up. “A friend said that to me, before.”

“Well, your friend is an intellectual, then,” Yanjun said. “Also, do we not count as friends?” He shook his head mournfully. “Incredible. All these years and I thought we really had something special going—”

“You are too much,” Zhangjing told him. “Zhengting is pouring his heart out to us over here, could you rein it in for two seconds.”

“I’m _getting_ there, let me finish.” Yanjun leaned forward. “I’m not your leader anymore,” he said, “but that doesn’t mean you should stop listening to me. Because I’m always right.”

“Of course,” Zhengting said.

“So believe me when I tell you that you’ve never had to do things alone,” Yanjun said. His gaze clear-eyed and even. Surely Zhengting could lean on him for just a little while longer. “If there’s anything you need from us. Don’t hesitate to ask.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As it happened, Zhengting was out on a quick midday convenience store run because the fridge depleted itself at terrifying rates with seven boys in the dorm, and if he had to listen to Chengcheng make sad pitiful noises lying face-down in the middle of the kitchen for a single second longer he really was going to lose his mind entirely. It was fortunate that the manager trusted him both with staying inconspicuous in public and with the company credit card.

He’d grabbed a random coat off the rack—Wenjun’s?—and was now aimlessly keeping one eye on the group chat, which, between Chengcheng and Xinchun, usually progressed too fast for him to keep up with. Fortunate, also, that living with Nine Percent for a year had given him nerves of steel, because the person who had just appeared around the corner and was heading down the pavement towards him was none other than Cai Xukun.

His hair was back to black, sticking out in tufts from under his cap, and the lower half of his face was obscured by a mask, but it was unmistakeably him. Zhengting would have known him anywhere. This was a mildly depressing realisation to arrive at, but he supposed it came with the ex-bandmate territory.

He slipped his phone back into his pocket and picked up his pace until Xukun was barely an armspan away. Xukun still hadn’t noticed him. He imagined touching Xukun’s shoulder, bridging the distance. Decided against it.

“Cai Xukun?”

Xukun reeled back, halfway between steps, like he was shocked to be caught out. As far as disguises went it was not a particularly good one, so Zhengting wasn’t sure how he’d managed to remain unaccosted thus far. Regardless, Zhengting waited for the recognition to be reciprocated. Finally Xukun tugged the facemask down.

“Zhengting,” he said slowly. “I didn’t know you were back in China.”

“I’ve been back for a few weeks already,” Zhengting said.

“Oh,” Xukun said. “The last time you posted on Weibo…”

“Oh, yeah, I keep forgetting to update…”

“I see…”

Technically there was no reason they should have fallen out of touch. They had each other’s SNS details. He knew Minghao and Chengcheng had more or less kept in contact with Xukun. All the message history Zhengting had with him was a handful of greetings scattered over months.

It wasn’t as though this was unexpected. Even when they’d been bandmates they wouldn’t have picked each other first. In a group as large and disparate as theirs had been they were bound to split along loyalty lines, gravitate towards favourites: Zhengting was Yuehua before he was anything else, and Xukun was always looking at Ziyi.

So maybe they weren’t friends, but they were _something_. You couldn’t inhabit the same space for two years and come out the other side as strangers. Sometimes Zhengting thought that might have been easier than whatever this intimacy limbo was supposed to be, knowing somebody in the minutest details, what they looked like at the height of their intensity or the moments before they fell asleep, without really knowing them at all. Looking, and not having the gesture returned, or at least not equally.

“Did you…” Zhengting trailed off. He flailed around for something that wasn’t accusatory or overly vulnerable, and settled on, “Did you watch our new music video,” which was not at all what he had wanted to say.

“Of course I did,” Xukun said. “I stayed up to catch it as soon as it came out.”

“I don’t believe you,” Zhengting said, “but I appreciate it!”

Something drained out of the taut line of Xukun’s shoulders. “Don’t you trust me?” he said. He fluttered his eyelashes, and this was familiar ground, a relief to fall back onto, if only because it eased the pressure of what Zhengting couldn’t say.

“Not at all,” Zhengting said cheerfully. “Justin tells me everything, you know! I force it out of him. Which is to say, I know _exactly_ who was behind the hair dye _incident_.”

“That was all Justin and Linong, I swear—you can’t always believe the things Justin says!”

“Justin wouldn’t lie to me,” Zhengting said. “He’s too scared of me.”

“Justin fears nothing,” Xukun said.

“Okay,” Zhengting said. “That’s—unfortunately true.”

There was another lull. They weren’t people who had the right to expect anything from each other, but Zhengting wanted it anyway. Even just the sense of obligation, the way talking to Ziyi compelled him to honesty. Something to explain why he kept coming back.

“But really, though,” Zhengting said. “How are you?”

“I’m doing well,” Xukun said. “I’m—I don’t know if you saw, but my last single charted—um, it—did well.”

“That’s good,” Zhengting said. “That’s good! And of course I saw. I’m your biggest fan, don’t you know?”

Xukun put a hand to his mouth. “Monster rookie boy band YHNEXT’s leader Zhu Zhengting is a fan of _me?_ Surely not…”

“Don’t start, nation’s centre,” Zhengting said, punching him on the shoulder.

Xukun laughed, eyes bright. Even when the sound faded the lightness remained. The seconds bled out between them. Everything he had wanted to say to Xukun dissolved on the tip of his tongue, almost sweetly.  

“I should…” Xukun motioned behind Zhengting, a little helplessly. “I’m meeting Ziyi soon…”

“Oh! Don’t let me keep you, then,” Zhengting said. “Say hi to Ziyi for me! It was—it was good to see you again. I’m glad. That we caught each other.”

“So am I,” Xukun said. Difficult to read, even though surely they should have known one another better than that, by now. Some people really were born to be idols.

Xukun made an aborted movement, as though to reach towards Zhengting’s hands. Then he seemed to think better of it, offering him a faint smile instead, before pulling his cap down a little further and hurrying past him. Zhengting didn’t turn to watch him leave. Overhead the sky was a shade of grey so pale it veered towards white, scrubbed clean of clouds. He took one step forward, and then another. He kept walking.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It had been unusually balmy for winter; still warm even now in the evening. Things really were moving towards spring. They’d been in and out of photoshoots all day, so Zhengting had begged the night off with judicious application of Quanzhe’s best beseechingly wide-eyed expression at the manager, who’d eventually relented. In hindsight it was a monumentally terrible decision to set YHNEXT loose on the unsuspecting city, but the only route left to Zhengting now was damage control.

Zhengting raised his voice. “Li Quanzhe, I am begging you to have a single thought—just one!—for once in your life—”

Looking only about a tenth as guilty as he should have, Quanzhe hopped back down from the water fountain wall he’d just flung a leg over. He cast Zhengting a despondent glance.

“Don’t give me that, I’m trying to secure your little life,” Zhengting hissed. Zeren patted Quanzhe consolingly on the back.

Chengcheng had an individual Lancôme endorsement that wrapped up filming a little later than the rest of them, so they were just waiting for him to arrive. Zhengting sent him the details of where they currently were. “Please try to get here before all of us die,” he said into a voice message, and sent that too.

“Let’s settle this,” Minghao yelled, which immediately set klaxons blaring inside Zhengting’s head. He waved Zhengting over. “Zhengting, who’s your favourite member?”

“None of you,” Zhengting said. “Qian Zhenghao will forever be my one-pick.”

Minghao scrunched his face up. “Where’s the Yuehua solidarity...”

“I assimilated him into the extended Yuehua conglomerate years ago, keep up.”

“That doesn’t count—”

“I’m the leader. Whatever I say counts.”

“Well, either way,” Minghao sang. “Even if you won’t admit it, I already knew I was your favourite.”

Zhengting stared at him. “Who are you again,” he said. He grabbed the nearest person, which happened to be Xinchun, and pointed at Minghao. “Do you know this interloper?”

“Never seen him before in my life,” Xinchun said obligingly, cementing his position as Zhengting’s current favourite Yuehua member.

“This is bullying,” Minghao said. “I’m being bullied. I’m calling Jie-gē about this. I’m gonna sic Gramarie on you, see how you like _that_ —”

“Now who’s breaking the Yuehua solidarity,” Zhengting said.

Minghao pushed his lower lip out, changing tack. He looked ridiculous, and ridiculously endearing. As he often did, Zhengting felt overwhelmed by the twin urges to pinch his cheeks and to throttle him to death. “Gē,” Minghao began.

“Oh, we are really in for it now,” Zhengting muttered. Xinchun, who had likely seen this play out enough times already, slipped out of his hold to join the others up ahead.

“Gē,” Minghao repeated, undeterred. He latched onto Zhengting’s arm and widened his eyes. “You’re so mean today… are you feeling okay? Is everything alright?”

“Stop, please,” Zhengting pleaded. Despite the years and years of overexposure his heart had not yet learned how to harden itself against the onslaught of Huang Minghao’s soulful sparkling eyes.

Minghao delivered the finishing blow. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

“Huang Minghao, you are absolutely impossible,” Zhengting said.

Minghao’s facial expression spasmed in what was probably a valiant attempt at a wink. The thing was, as much as it pained Zhengting to admit it, Minghao was right. Zhengting made a rule out of not playing favourites, but in the end it was Minghao who had been with him the longest, and Minghao who he would always look for first.

Zhengting was spared from having to acknowledge any of this by the timely arrival of Chengcheng, striding towards them in an elegant grey coat completely inappropriate for the weather, but Zhengting had expected nothing less from YHNEXT’s most fashion-forward figure. Minghao immediately let go of Zhengting, presumably to hang off _his_ one-pick, but Zhengting got there first, throwing himself onto Chengcheng.

“Thank god you’re here,” Zhengting said. “I’m _so_ tired. I’m ready to abdicate.”

Chengcheng groaned, but adjusted for Zhengting’s weight anyway. “Zhengting, how are you even this heavy, you’re crushing me.”

“Show some support,” Zhengting said, digging the heels of his palms into Chengcheng’s cheeks to squish his mouth together. Chengcheng put up with this for another five seconds, then puffed his cheeks out, and Zhengting rocked back onto his own feet, balancing himself with a hand on Chengcheng’s shoulder.

“Is everyone still alive?” Chengcheng said.

“Unfortunately,” Zhengting said. “How was filming?”

“Fine,” Chengcheng said. “One of the makeup-jiĕjies was a fan of Nine Percent.”

“But what about _us_ , though,” Zhengting said, and regretted it when it came out much less lightly than he’d intended. Chengcheng’s gaze sharpened. He looked like he was going to say something, but he didn’t.

Minghao, clearly bored of the conversation, was plucking insistently at Chengcheng’s elbow, fiddling with his cuffs, hopping from one foot to the other. Chengcheng staunchly refused to move.

“Dude, stop ignoring me,” Minghao complained.

“Did you hear something?” Chengcheng said, cupping a hand around his ear. “The wind sure is loud around here—”

Minghao kicked at Chengcheng’s ankles. Chengcheng retaliated swiftly and mercilessly. “What is it, Pick On Justin Day?” Minghao said.

“Now you know how _I_ feel every day,” Zhengting said. “This is a very refreshing change of pace, I think. Also, if you’re planning to kill each other, please do it neatly.”

Minghao and Chengcheng pulled identical faces at each other, then at Zhengting. “Do your own dirty work,” Chengcheng said.

They promptly resumed squabbling, because they tended to forget other people existed when they were with each other. Eventually Minghao ran out of patience altogether and skipped ahead to pester Zeren or engage him in a dance-off to the death or whatever it was they were doing over there.

“I saw Cai Xukun the other day, you know,” Zhengting said.

“But did he see you?”

“I would hope so, since we had an actual conversation and all.”

A slight pause. “Did you now,” Chengcheng said.

“Hey! Fan Chengcheng, what’s that supposed to mean? Do you not believe me?”

“You never even talked to him when we were all in the same band,” Chengcheng said.

“Well, no,” Zhengting conceded. “But it’s not like we aren’t friends, right? Anyway, I don’t know. It made me think about some stuff, I guess.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“YHNEXT,” Zhengting said. “How we aren’t Nine Percent. Not that that’s a bad thing! This was always where we were supposed to end up, after all. I think—maybe I’m just out of practice, being a leader? It’s harder than I remember.”

He laughed quietly. Chengcheng set a hand to the juncture of Zhengting’s neck and shoulder, gentle, grounding. The gesture Zhengting had made earlier, mirrored.

“Here’s what _I_ think,” Chengcheng said. “I think you should stop worrying about it, and we should go get some food because I’m starving, and enjoy what’s probably the last free night we’ll have for the rest of the year—”

Zeren had Minghao in a headlock, now, and Quanzhe was doubled over and laughing so hard he looked like he was about to pass out, the sound loud and bright even from this distance. Xinchun seemed to be eyeing the precarious perch Wenjun had balanced on the edge of the fountain; Zhengting resigned himself to the fact that somebody was going to end up in the water by the end of the night. But here they all were. All of the uncommon warmth of the day held finely between them.

“ —so what do you say, leader?”

Chengcheng was smiling.

“Yeah,” Zhengting said. “Yeah, let’s go.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> \- junhui is a member of kpop group seventeen—he’s friends with zhengting, though i'm not sure how close they actually are ;; the first person jun mentions is seventeen’s leader seungcheol (whose chinese name is 胜哲/shengzhe), the second is (xu) minghao, and the third is[i’m sniped from orbit for tinhat crimes]  
> \- THE XIAMEN VISIT. i know it is geographically unrealistic but this entire fic is already self-indulgent enough so i figured i'd go all the way and set a part in my hometown... zhengting is from anhui but it is not out of the realms of possibility for him to have family in fujian right...  
> \- like... all of this is pure speculation and headcanon so if you have any questions about anything happening here feel free to drop them in the comments/my [cc](https://curiouscat.me/inheritance), etc  
> \- i'm on twitter [@juncheolsoo](https://twitter.com/juncheolsoo), let's talk 9%!


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